by Maisie Dean
When she saw me approach in the reflection of the mirror she sniffed and wiped at her nose with a sleeve. She looked pissed, but too worn out to show any real conviction.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Money?”
“No,” I replied. I offered her the water bottle and two pieces of gum that I’d swiped earlier from craft services. “I’m not trying to make things worse, I promise.”
Trudy’s eyes brimmed with tears again as she took my peace offerings.
“Why are you here if you’re not going to tell anybody?” she asked.
I decided to bite the bullet and come out with the truth, or at least a version of it. “I’m not going to tell anybody, but Nate has noticed you acting suspiciously around him. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out,” I said. “And, I think some other people already know or have a pretty good idea about what’s going on.”
Trudy’s heavy lids shot open wide, and, consciously or not, she brought a hand to her stomach. A look of genuine fear flashed in the reflection of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.
Her voice was thin and raspy. “Who?” Trudy asked.
“I can’t say,” I said lamely. I thought she would have pressed me harder to find out who on-set had found out about the baby, besides Keiko and myself, but she didn’t. To my surprise, her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the bathroom counter.
“I have to tell Nate,” she said.
I had to prevent myself from letting out an audible sigh of relief.
“It will come out eventually and it would be much better coming from you,” I said gently. I took a couple steps forward and carefully joined Trudy leaning against the counter. She opened the water bottle and took a few sips.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Trudy said. Standing so close, I could hear her breath getting faster, and the color in her face was draining away.
“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” I reassured her.
“I’ve been too scared to tell him. He deserves to know, but I just can’t. I keep losing my nerve,” Trudy said miserably.
“That’s understandable, it’s a big–”
“Can you tell him for me?!” Trudy interrupted.
I was too shocked to answer her right away.
“Please, he needs to know but I can’t, I just can’t tell him,” Trudy continued. “You’re a familiar face at least, how bad can it be?”
Bad! I thought. I didn’t have any personal experience, but I was sure that being told by your faux-PA, hired to figure out why your career was experiencing a failure to launch, would rank high on the list of “bad ways to find out you’re going to be a father.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You want me to do it?”
Trudy nodded through teary eyes.
It was not the ideal outcome, but it wasn’t the worst, either. At least I had Trudy’s blessing to tell Nate. I wouldn’t have to go against her wishes.
“Okay,” I told her. “I’ll do it.”
Trudy suddenly lunged at me. She hugged me.
“Thank you,” she gushed. “Oh, thank you.”
I patted her gently on the back. “No problem,” I said. She was holding onto me so strongly I had to force it out.
Trudy pulled back with a sheepish look on her face. I was relieved that some color had returned to her cheeks.
“What’s your name again?” Trudy asked.
“It’s Kacey.”
“Thank you, Kacey.” For the first time all week, Trudy smiled. She had clasped her hands over her abdomen.
I was pleased that Trudy was less scared, but I still felt like I had a small stone in my throat. “You’re welcome,” I said.
Now all I had to do was figure out how to tell Nate.
CHAPTER 15
There was no time like the present to rip off the Band-Aid, so when Nate grabbed his lunch and headed back to his trailer to relax, I followed close behind. Breaking the news went about as well as I anticipated.
“Nate? Are you okay?” I asked. His fork, full of couscous, was frozen in midair, hovering in front of his face.
“Nate?” I asked again. In a few minutes, we had to head back to set and Nate would have to jump into his next scene. I wished I’d thought out my delivery better. Why had I done it in the middle of the day? He still had hours of work to do! He was going to return to set like a zombie and then it was only a matter of time before everyone would find out. I’d really made a mess of things this time.
“Trudy’s fine,” I reassured him. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but close enough. “She’s going to be fine.” That was more accurate.
Suddenly there was a sharp knock on Nate’s trailer door.
“Five minutes, Nate!” said one of the assistant directors.
Nate finally blinked and put his fork down on the table. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down to the ground like he was searching for something. Probably a place to hide, judging by the stunned look on his face. Then I noticed that it was his black suede sneakers that he was trying to slip his feet back into.
“That’s the left foot, Nate. Other shoe—no, other foot,” I said. In the end, I had to kneel down and sort him out. I made the executive decision to tie the laces for my incapacitated client as well. I was the one who had been the incapacitator, after all. As I looped and wound the black shoestrings, I couldn’t help but wonder whether Nate would stand by Trudy and, in a few short years, be tying up his own child’s shoes like this.
“Nate, I–” I said, but before I had a chance to get any further, Thomas swung open the trailer door, letting a bright stream of sunlight into the dim space.
“Come on, man, what’s the hold-up?” Thomas said in a full-bodied voice.
Nate only stood up in response and descended the narrow steps to the pavement outside. He walked slowly and steadily back toward the soundstage without a second glance at me or his co-star.
“What’s with him?” Thomas asked.
I shrugged. “Probably the clams in the chowder,” I suggested innocently.
Thomas’s eyebrow lifted at the edge and he gingerly slid both hands across his stomach. “I had three bowls!” he said.
I waved my hand and briskly followed after Nate. “I’m sure you’re fine, Nate mentioned something about an allergy…” I intentionally trailed off. I took off at a casual jog, leaving Thomas behind. “I’ll see you over there!”
Nate was already taking direction and getting into position when I showed up. The scene was to take place in an old storage locker filled with gadgets and gizmos the characters apparently used to round up ghosts and demons in the fictional world. The whole plot was an interesting parallel to my own work, I realized, as I was often the one responsible for discovering the moles or criminals in my cases.
When the director called, “Action!” Nate suddenly snapped out of his shocked stupor and into brilliant, and seemingly effortless, acting mode. Wow, he really did have talent!
As soon as the camera was off, however, Nate returned to his deer in the headlights routine. To avoid suspicion by letting him wander aimlessly around set, I led him as quickly as I could back to his trailer and closed the door.
Inside his trailer, there was a counter and a mirror with light around it—a mini version of the amenities of the larger makeup trailer a few doors down. Nate collapsed into the rotating chair and rubbed at his temples with a sigh. This was good; sound and movement was a positive sign. When Nate pulled his hand away, he had face makeup on his fingers. Desperate to do something helpful after dropping the news bomb, I jumped in and grabbed a cotton ball.
“Here, let me,” I said. I soaked the cotton with a pink solution labeled “makeup remover,” and got to work gently scrubbing off the foundation and subtle eyeliner.
“Thank you for all your work this week,” Nate said. “The outcome… Well, it isn’t what I expected, but you still did a good job of handling my world. There wasn’t a whisper campaign at all. It was just my paranoia getting the best of
me.” Nate closed his eyes while I passed over them to get all the brown liner that was left. “Now that I know the truth, everything’s going to be fine.”
“Everything will be fine,” I said supportively. I threw the used cotton into a small silver waste bin.
Nate stood up. “Thanks, Kacey. I should make some calls now, so you’re welcome to head out.” He hadn’t fully bounced back to his usual self but there was a weak smile on his lips. “I enjoyed working with you and your agency. Hollywood is all about favors, and you’ve really done me a solid by keeping all of this business with Trudy under wraps. Is there anything I can do for you?”
I was about to say no when a nagging thought crept from my mind to my lips.
“Actually…” I said hesitantly. “Would it be out of line to ask if you could submit my demo reel to your agent? When I dropped the paperwork off to them, the accountant suggested it.”
Nate’s smiled widened, and not in critical amusement like I had feared, but genuine warmth.
“Absolutely. You should submit your reel,” he said. “I’ll start putting in a good word for you right now because I have to call my agency. I want to get copies of all my contracts and deal memos and get my finances reorganized. Apparently, I’ve got a family to support!” Nate exclaimed and then quickly covered his mouth, realizing he might have spoken too loudly.
Nate still looked shaken from the news. He was fidgety as we said our goodbyes. He pulled out his phone. A small smile kept creeping back into the corners of his mouth. It appeared that something good might have come from hiring the agency after all.
CHAPTER 16
I woke up the next morning with a jolt. My dream had been full of paparazzi and red carpets. In it, I’d been wearing a deep red, couture gown, and walking confidently against the backdrop for an awards show. The loud voices of fans and journalists blurred together as one unified hum until one particular voice stood out in the crowd.
“Kacey! Kacey,” Lucky’s voice had rung out over the rest. “Your case isn’t closed, you haven’t finished the paperwork!” Lucky elbowed his way through the crowd, his suit disheveled from being pushed and prodded amongst the throng of people. Suddenly I realized that all of the people behind the flashing cameras were ones I’d met on cases. Some of them were clients, but most were the criminals I had caught. Now they all looked eager and pleased to be ‘capturing’ me through their lenses.
Then Harrison and Owen appeared beside Lucky. “You can’t go, Kacey,” Owen said.
“I need your report tonight,” said Harrison.
“But I–” I managed to stammer. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton. “I have to get my award…”
Lucky smiled as if he hadn’t heard me. “See you at Doyle’s later?” he asked, but before I could answer, he disappeared.
Right before my eyes flew open, I heard a baby cry out somewhere further along the red carpet.
I sat up quickly to clear my head of the confusing dream. I was relieved it was already beginning to fade into what felt like bits and pieces of an old memory.
My phone screen told me it was half past nine in the morning. I usually like to sleep in later than that on the weekends, but I was awake now, so it was time to get up. I pulled on a grey sweatshirt and some comfy leggings and made my way to the kitchen. Rosie’s hair was still in the loose bun she must have slept in. Strands of bright blonde hair shot out in all directions.
Despite her bedraggled look, Rosie was as perky as ever. She was the morning person between the two of us.
“Good morning,” she sing-songed.
I happily put up with Rosie’s chipper attitude because it meant I never had to wait for the coffee to brew.
“Here,” she said, pushing a sunny yellow mug into my hands, “Drink up. Revive yourself.”
I took her direction seriously and swallowed several gulps of hot coffee in a row while I took a seat at our tiny kitchen table. It wasn’t much larger than a TV table, but it was large enough for two plates and two cups, or in the case of that morning, two steaming mugs and a box of stale donuts.
“Breakfast of champions,” I said. I flipped open the thin cardboard box and selected a chocolate glazed. The box had been sitting there for a couple days and an impressive amount of oil had seeped across the bottom.
Rosie chose a rainbow sprinkle. “Nothing like stale donuts and coffee,” she said and then frowned at her donut. “I thought that by this time in life my Saturday mornings would be filled with fancy brunches across the city, new mimosa flavors each week.”
“Too many rom-coms?” I suggested.
“No such thing,” Rosie quickly countered.
“Cheers to that,” I said, extending my yellow mug toward her purple one with an unsatisfying clank. While our small table was suitable for breakfast time, the hard chairs didn’t scream relaxing weekend, so Rosie and I moved onto the couch in the living room.
I pulled out my laptop as Rosie and I caught up on the week.
Rosie let out a long sigh. “I wish you worked with Nate Pavel all the time,” she said.
“He isn’t exactly on the market if you remember,” I said. I had given Rosie the full update about Trudy and sworn her to secrecy.
“I know,” Rosie said. “But a girl can dream.”
I nodded, distracted by my task of recutting my demo reel. I wanted to spruce it up before Nate passed it on to Ms. Zimmerman. I only had one shot left, I had to make it count.
“What are you doing on there?” Rosie asked.
Nate’s favor was one thing I hadn’t caught Rosie up on yet. Something in me was hesitant to expose my wavering career desires once more. It must have sounded like a broken record to her by now.
“Just retouching my demo reel. Nate offered to pass it along to his agent for me,” I said, keeping my eyes on the screen.
“Oh,” Rosie said.
Rosie was so much like a sister to me that it only took that one word and her tone to tell me exactly what she was thinking.
“I know, I know. I’m happy with the Bookers. But then this opportunity arose. I might as well give acting one last shot, right?”
Rosie’s tone was calculated. “Right,” she answered.
“Besides, it’s not like anything will come of it. You should see the women in that place, and they’re just the assistants!”
“Might as well try,” Rosie said again in the same distant tone.
I let my breath out in a huff and pushed my messy hair back over my shoulders. “I can’t believe I’m doing exactly what Tippy said I would. I hate it when she’s right, but she doesn’t have to know. Nothing will come of it anyway,” I rambled on.
“That woman can read minds,” Rosie said with wide eyes. “Good luck keeping it from her.”
Rosie turned on an episode she’d missed earlier that week, while I snipped and added to my five-minute demo reel.
“Shoot,” I said, growling in frustration.
Rosie was too wrapped up in the drama on-screen to notice. I was having a technical issue with the file size of one of the clips. It was one of my more recent roles, the last one before I’d started working for the Bookers. In the clip, I looked more mature. My acting was brief but skillful. I had to include it if I wanted to have a shot at impressing Ms. Zimmerman.
I emailed Owen and explained the technical glitch as best as I could with my limited computer lingo. Minutes later, he emailed back, “Working in the office this morning. Come by and I’ll sort it out.”
Rosie mumbled her goodbye when I grabbed my laptop and purse and headed out the door. According to her, the episode was “just getting good.”
In the car, I realized I’d forgotten to bring my auxiliary cord to listen to the music on my phone. My car was too old to have any wireless capabilities. I turned on the radio. A couple songs later, a particular name caught my attention and I turned up the volume. The radio hosts were discussing something that had been released on the internet.
“I’m honestly shocked, T
onya,” said the male host.
The female host scoffed. “Shocked? I’m horrified. It’s completely unacceptable, there’s no way Nate Pavel is ever coming back from this.”
CHAPTER 17
The office was empty except for Owen, which made sense because it was Saturday morning. Lucky had most likely just woken up in an unfamiliar bed somewhere in the city. Tippy was no doubt attending some sort of brunch with free-flowing mimosas. And even Harrison, the truest workaholic there ever was, preferred to have his Saturdays for whatever it was that Harrison did outside of work. Owen had the office phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder when I walked in.
“Yes. I hear you. We’re going to throw all available resources at this and find the source of the leak,” Owen was saying while using both hands to type lightning-fast across one of his keyboards. He must have been speaking with Nate. “Yes. We will.” With that Owen ended the call.
I glanced around at the empty desks. Resources were scarce at present.
“Nate?” I asked.
Owen answered gravely and pinched at the bridge of his nose.
“I heard something on the radio, what happened exactly?” I asked.
“It’s probably easier to show you,” Owen replied. “Plus, it isn’t something I want to recap using exact language.”
Now I was even more curious. Owen hit play on the video which already had a million and a half views. In the video, a man wearing a burgundy sweatshirt paced back and forth, seemingly unaware he was being filmed. He held a stack of papers which I soon identified as a script. The quality of the video wasn’t excellent, but it did look like Nate. When the man spoke louder, I was positive it was Nate. I had been listening to his voice all week. In the video, Nate appeared to become distracted while doing a scene, then angrily shouted racial slurs at someone off camera. His words were vulgar, and his tone was angry and charged up. The hateful speech didn’t sound like anything the Nate I knew would ever say to anyone, but I had only known him for a week.
When the clip ended, Owen said, “Nate called in and swore up and down that whoever this guy is, it isn’t him.”